DEATH OF AN INVINCIBLE SOLDIER
Forged somewhere near His throne
Of battles still the Lord.
That weapon when he drew,
Back rolled the wrath of men,—
Their onset feebler grew,
The Nation rose again.
The splendor and the fame—
Whisper of these alone,
Nor say that round his name
A moment's shade was thrown;
Count not each satellite
'Twixt him and glory's sun,
The circling things of night;
Number his battles won.
Where then to choose his grave?
From mountain unto sea,
The Land he fought to save
His sepulchre shall be.
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